


Drabble Challenge Collection

by Prosaic



Category: Princess Tutu
Genre: Drabbles, F/M, Gen, Meme, Post-Series, one shots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-12 12:09:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/490832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prosaic/pseuds/Prosaic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles written in response to a drabble writing challenge meme on LiveJournal. Originally meant to fill  eight spots, but any further AO3 requests are welcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Request: "Author. Writing." for bookelfe.

_Once upon a time, there lived a boy in a small town. This boy was highly renowned for his intelligence; his mastery of music and wide knowledge of history. Everyone in town came to the boy with questions or advice, and the boy helped them. ~~They were eternally grateful and showered him with--~~ One day, the boy met a ~~beautiful girl~~ _ a princess _whose hair was soft as silk, whose eyes shone like ~~rubies~~ jewels, who looked into his eyes and instantly--_

_Oh what was the bloody point?_

He made to ball the paper--inkwell and all--and toss the whole mess across the room, but stopped himself and instead pushed out his chair so he could stretch and rub his eyes under his glasses. He’d thought for sure, if he just wrote about things he knew--…

Or things he had hoped to know perhaps. Humph, what did it matter? Didn’t it all come down to creativity anyway? After you passed over the first hurdle you could make anything happen, right?

Certainly he was creative enough! He was one of the top students in the music division, in a school for the arts no less! Why shouldn’t he be? What made Fakir so… _gifted?_ (He spat the word like an insult. And after all didn't they share some strand of the same bloodline?) 

He directed a glare across the room to the boy in question, who briefly met his gaze with cruel indifference before turning back to his chattering companion. 

Autor watched her too; waving her hands and moving her lips so fast it made him ponder whether she might have mastered circular breathing. 

Is that what he needed? Some half-wit obnoxious girl who he could moon over while he was forced to listen to her yammer for hours on end? Is that what true inspiration required? 

Someone snorted close to his ear and he jumped, whipping his head around to face the intruder. Pique was staring down at his paper with an eyebrow cocked. She met his scowl with a bemused expression. 

_Again?_

He blushed and tried to cover the few words he’d written with his arm.

She moved slowly away from him and back to her own seat, muttering as she went. 

“Why don’t you just compose a song instead? You’re good with music, right?”

He blinked at her retreating form, and then looked back at his pitiful attempt at literature. The ink had yet to dry and had smeared, staining the sleeve of his uniform. Cleaning what he could with water from his thermos, he stared at the parchment and thought he could see imaginary musical notes lining up for him on a music staff. 

He huffed, picking up his quill and idly beginning to trace the images. He wasn’t doing this because she had told him to, of course.


	2. Request: "Fakir/Ahiru. First Time." for serika_san.

She had started to shake and clutched at his arm for support, her eyes growing impossibly wide.

“…Calm down.” He whispered.

“I-I _am calm_!” She hissed back, as her nails bit into his bicep. 

He scoffed. 

“You’re _not_. If you shook any harder all your seems would come undone and you’d collapse like a rag-doll.”

“You are not. _Helping_!” 

“Look, it’ll go by quicker then you think. If you just get this done once you’ll never have to do it again.”

“ _Yes I will_!” She whined, “I’ll have to do it again and again and again! You know I will! Don’t lie to me when I know you’re lying!”

“Well what do you want me to say?”

“ _I don’t know_! Something to make me feel better. My legs feel like Ms. Ebine’s gelatin.” 

“I don’t have _time_ to give you a pep talk--…” He watched her trembling and sighed, reaching out to pull her a little closer.

“You’ll be fine. Just follow everything I do, alright?”

“I…yeah, I guess.” And she moved to loop an arm around his middle. 

Applause rang out suddenly from nowhere and she could hear her heart pounding in her ears. Somewhere behind the throbbing was Mrs. Paulemoni making her introduction.

Fakir squeezed her a little before stepping forward into the wings for their entrance. He looked back at her over his shoulder.

“Ready?”

Ahiru gave a final shudder, before nodding shakily and taking his hand.


	3. Request: "Charon and Mytho. Bonding." for spheralunaris.

He looked up in time to see the boy stumble into the kitchen, his arms laden with dirty dishes. He swayed from their weight before hurrying to the counter and depositing them into the sink.

Smiling, Mytho rolled up his sleeves and plunged his hands into the soapy water, scrubbing at the residue of their dinner. 

Charon slowly made his way over to the prince’s side, and without a word picked up the cleaned dishes and started to rub them dry with a rag. 

Mytho turned to his sudden companion, watching as he lifted the plates one by one from the counter where he’d laid them. 

“Thank you.” 

Karon started stacking the dishes into a neat pile to place in the cupboard later. 

“I never really get to do this anymore. Back in my kingdom I mean. I have so many servants…I suppose I should be used to it--I grew up with them after all--but…” he trailed off.

“Sometimes it’s nice to do things for yourself.”

Mytho smiled. 

“Yes. Exactly.” He turned to continue his work, only to pause, dish half raised. 

“We…used to do this a lot, didn’t we? When Fakir was younger. Before Raetsel came to live with us.” His voice became wistful as his mind started to swim with visions of a time when he could do little for himself, when he’d begun to rely on the care of a kind blacksmith and his young charge--his own would be knight whose eyes had not yet been hardened by fear and duty. 

Charon moved closer to the sink, reaching out and gently tugging to plate from the young man’s immobile hands and started to wipe it down. 

“Fakir was too short to reach the sink.” He set the plate on the pile. 

Mytho blinked down at his vacant hand before returning to his task. 

“That’s right. I was the only one who could help.” He chuckled, although his eyes were melancholy. “I kept dropping the dishes and spilling the water all over the floor. It must have been a burden to you, having to tell me what to do all of the time, keeping me out of trouble…”

Charon paused in his drying; glancing at the once heartless boy who was now a prince--always had been a prince--at his side. 

“Not at all.”

He reached out and lightly ruffled his hair, making the boy jump and stare at him. 

“It’s nothing less then what a father would expect.”


	4. Request: "Fakir. Lohengrin De ja vu." for duchessa.

_“STOP!”_

_The wind was picking up. Amongst the rustling of the leaves was an irritating clicking noise that was harder to pinpoint._

_Perhaps if she stopped screaming._

_Would_ he _be screaming too? If he fully understood what I was about to do? He’d never screamed at me, at_ anyone _before….Hmm._

_“You’re not even thinking are you? You just get swept up in duty and bravo and can’t be bothered to think about the consequences! How is it better this way?”_

_Irritating. It’s irritating. It’s still pounding in my ears, no matter how far I walked away from her. Or is it my heart beat that threatens to blast my eardrums apart? Am I afraid? I feel numb, which could easily be from the cold. But I've felt like this for a while, ever since--…_

_“Fool--!” Ah, that’s different. The first time she’d ever resorted to insults.“-He’ll die! He’ll die if he doesn’t have you! You know this! You’re abandoning him; he’ll have nothing left to fight with! You’re only reducing the amount of time it takes before--!” She’s shaking. I can hear it in her voice. “You’ll die too! It’s suicide! Please!”_

_I knew. It was going to come to this eventually, why delay it any further? We are getting so tired of running. If I could end it quickly, even if I were to be destroyed in the process…was this so terrible? If it was all for his sake?_

_“Please, my lady, please. We must hurry and escape before--"_

_“Don’t do this! How will this make things better? What will it solve?!”_

_It’s up there, waiting for me. It knows. That’s why it’s not attacking. It’s taunting me. Her voice keeps getting higher and higher, it’s piercing my skull._

_“Come back! Come back! Please, Loh--!”_

 

“--kir?!”

Someone is shaking him. His vision is blurred when he opens his eyes. There’s an image swimming before him, concerned bright blue eyes staring into his face. Why was she--? Had he fallen while fighting--?

“Fakir, are you okay? You were pale and sweating and rolling around a lot…”

_….Ahiru?_

He sat up, the bright summer sun stinging his eyes. He clutched his pounding head, still feeling clouded and groggy. His heart was thumping painfully against his ribcage. 

“Fakir? Were you…having a bad dream?”


	5. Request: "Mytho/Rue. Post-series." for web_of.

Rue, to his surprise, had an amazing singing voice. 

It wasn’t like most girls, whose voices were soft and clear and bright like a bell or a lark’s call. There was something darker and soothing about it, which suited her very well. 

He took to asking her to sing to him before bed, and she was more then happy to indulge him. 

She’d sit on the bay window in their bedroom just when the moon was peaking over the treetops--It was always full in their kingdom--with the night breeze wafting in to tug at her hair and nightgown. 

She sang about everything; songs about the moon and stars, or the jealous oceans down below who could only reflect their brilliance. Songs about lovers reunited after being torn apart by wars or terrible circumstance. Songs about newborn birds opening their eyes for the first time, and taking in the wonder of the world around them.

His personal favorite, however, were the folk songs from Kinkan that she had picked up from their frequent visits to Fakir and Ahiru. They made him feel warm, nostalgic and even a little homesick, which was a feeling he’d never really experienced before.

Some of her song's stories were bittersweet or melancholy, but none were ever truly sad. She didn’t seem to think that they needed to be burdened with tragic endings anymore. 

Once, she had asked him why he did not join her those nights when she would sing for him. He had smiled sheepishly and explained that he’d never been very good at carrying a tune. 

But this was a lie.

In truth, he preferred to have the privilege of listening to the private performances. He liked watching her bathed in moonlight, her red eyes light with peace and happiness in a way that reminded him more of wine rather then blood.

He enjoyed these stolen moments when they were alone, when his beautiful dark princess sang for him and no one else. When they could stop being fairytale royalty and simply be Mytho and Rue for a little while.

Which, he realized, was rather selfish. He grinned at the thought.

He never once pondered what Princess Tutu’s voice had sounded like.


End file.
